


Daydreams

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing that Merlin both loves and hates about the winter months, it's the tendency to feel lethargic, eat a lot, and exercise not at all. When there's snow all around and resident princes are crabby with the weather and really cold chain mail, Merlin's blankets are incredibly warm and magic is an excellent agent for warming up yesterday's leftovers. It's so tempting, some days, to spend all of his free time lying around like a bump on a log.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/9/09 [here](http://merlinadvent.livejournal.com/31594.html).

If there's one thing that Merlin both loves and hates about the winter months, it's the tendency to feel lethargic, eat a lot, and exercise not at all. When there's snow all around and resident princes are crabby with the weather and really cold chain mail, Merlin's blankets are incredibly warm and magic is an excellent agent for warming up yesterday's leftovers. It's so tempting, some days, to spend all of his free time lying around like a bump on a log.

When he was younger, that was precisely what he would do: he'd find something his mother had prepared (assuredly not as nice as what the kitchens would, but Ealdor is not Camelot, and he has chosen one over the other for a reason) and settle in for a night of eating and thinking. If he wasn't exercising his body, he might as well be exercising his mind, mightn't he?

Certain princes might ask for the evidence of this, but Merlin knows how he spent all those cold, snowed-in winters. Perhaps he wasn't thinking about the meaning of life or anything as profound as that, but he was thinking. About any number of things, really: what life was like outside of Ealdor, what he would do when he grew up, who his father really was, when he'd really grow into his magic, when he'd be able to take care of his mother like she really deserved, if someday he might live in a place where they didn't have to hide what they wanted to keep safe and people could be who they were without fear.

Maybe, just maybe, Merlin would call it daydreaming. Fanciful though it was -- and Arthur would surely tease him for the rest of their lives over it (though Merin knows Arthur must have done it when he was a child, too, since all children did) -- Merlin remembers those days fondly. Sometimes, when he's feeling indulgent, that's still what he does. Winter months, after all: to love and to hate, but definitely there for a good while, and the time has to pass somehow.

For now, Merlin can smile and daydream, marveling at what dreams have changed and what dreams have remained the same. He can compare the dreams he had when he was a child to the ones he has now and wonder about the dreams he will have when he's older than Gaius is now. Long, dark hours with warm blankets and warm food, kept that way in secret by a secret magic, fed by daydreams of a younger self, are something that Merlin will always associate with the winter months.

He loves it and hates it, but that's all right; most of the things that turn out to be truly important, Merlin has found, have racked up a sound tally in both columns. They're still important.


End file.
